


And My Hands Are Tempted Once Again

by curds_and_wheyface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Angry Sex, M/M, No Character Death, Pornstars, Sex Toys, briefest mention of daddykink, further warning in the end notes, incredibly mild humiliation, role play, smut smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface/pseuds/curds_and_wheyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has worked for an amateur porn site for three years when he gets called in to work with a young new guy, Tom. Things get...complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [umakoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/gifts), [cunninglingus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunninglingus/gifts).



> This began as a conversation with [rangerdanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/townpariah) but would never have been completed without the encouragement of [umakoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo) and [cunninglingus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cunninglingus).
> 
> There's an additional tag/warning in the end notes but it spoils a small twist, so don't read unless you absolutely have to.

"Buddy, I've sent a clip over," Gavin had said on the phone, not caring that Chris had only just woken up after long night of celebratory drinking. "His name's Tom. Think you might find him interesting..."

Now Chris is on his laptop waiting for his emails to load, rubbing at his unshaven face in annoyance.

His stomach rumbles, hungry for something salty to see off the last of his hangover and, honestly, he's got so much to do today that he's not sure he can really justify wasting half an hour to 'check out' Gavin's latest video.

Still, when the email comes through - titled ' _So what do you think?_ ' - he clicks the attachment and sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees and giving the video his full attention.

The site logo pops up, along with the gaudy moaning sound that always follows it, and then the screen goes black for a second before the video starts.

There's a boy on the bed completely naked, sitting with his feet spread shoulder-width apart, his cock already hard and resting up against his stomach. He looks seventeen at a push, though sixteen seems more likely, and has a halo of neat blonde curls framing his pixie-like face. Chris frowns and sits back, confused that Gavin would use such a young looking guy in a video.

"Can you confirm that you're eighteen just for the camera?" Gavin's voice says from out of shot, "we don't want to get ourselves in trouble."

Tom's laugh is breathy, eyes pinching shut and tongue poking out a little between his teeth. "I'm eighteen," he says in an airy British accent, accompanied by a light shrug of his shoulders as though he can't tell why anyone would question his age.

His collarbones are obvious on his thin frame, his nipples pale and small, and he's got a scrape on his knee like a little boy who fell off his bike. His dick is nice though, curved slightly to the left, uncut, and he's already reaching down to palm at it.

Chris sits forward further still.

"And tell the nice viewers your name," Gavin says next, with an indulgent tone that he's never used when speaking to Chris.

The boy on the bed laughs again, despite the condescension, looking right into the camera and licking at his mouth. Maybe on anyone else it'd look contrived or insincere but there's something about the kid that makes Chris want to loop the moment again.

"Hello viewers," he mutters with a low voice, devious. "I'm Oakley."

Chris snorts, repeating the unusual name under his breath. Nobody on the site uses their real name; for some it's to keep their identity secret but for Chris it's about separating his porn career from his real life. He doesn't know where 'Oakley' came up with his name but based on his silver-spoon accent and the proud lift of his chin Chris has a feeling that the kid is spoiled and used to getting his way, probably oblivious to the existence of the word no. Something about that piques his interest.

Tom doesn't need to be directed to start touching himself properly like most of the straight boys who come in to do solo jerk-off vids for the extra cash, he wraps a hand around himself eagerly and lets his head drop back a bit as a nice little moan slips out between his parted lips.

"Do you masturbate a lot?" Gavin's disembodied voice asks as he aims the camera down to focus more centrally on Tom's cock rather than his face.

Gavin zooms in a little as Tom tugs his foreskin down to reveal the rosy, wet tip of his pretty cock, and then he's rubbing his thumb carefully around the rim of the crown, letting out another breathy laugh when his cock jumps in his fist.

His face isn't visible on the video but he answers in the affirmative, bragging, "I have a high sex drive. It's not a good day unless I've come three or four times."

Chris knows that would have pleased Gavin, and when the camera zooms back out again to allow for a view of the boy's face his infectious smile is aimed over the top of the camera, like he's happy to have pleased his director.

It's not every day that the videos on the site get a rise out of Chris, not now that he's in his third year of filming for Gavin, but something about this kid and his answers to the questions is causing that familiar tug in his groin.

Maybe it also has something to do with how enthusiastically he's fisting at his cock, too, how unabashedly he spits into his palm to get a good, wet slide from base to tip.

"Have you ever been fucked?" Gavin prods, then.

The boy's tongue flicks across his lips again, breath starting to quicken. "Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it." He squeezes his palm tighter around his cock and draws his knees up just enough to hint at the greedy hole nestled between his neat little arse cheeks. "I love being fucked. Especially if he's big."

Gavin laughs. "Yeah? Big cock or big guy?"

Tom wiggles his feet to spread his legs further, letting his body slip further down the pillows. "Both. I've always had this fantasy about getting nailed by someone bigger."

It's then that Chris slips a hand between his legs, just to grope at the growing hardness in his comfy sweatpants.

Gavin laughs, the sound loud coming from so near to the camera. "So you'd be willing to come back and shoot another video with us? Bottom for one of our guys?"

The boy doesn't even hesitate, pumping his hips upwards as he says, "Absolutely."

Chris' gaze snags on the way he moves his hips, the tight little thrusts and the way the muscles of his arse and thighs tighten each time he does. He finds himself rubbing harder at his own cock, watching as Tom lifts his other hand to rub gently at his abdomen and chest, taking care to pay special attention to each of his nipples in turn.

There's something feline and overtly sexual about him, about how he commands his young body, and Chris, imagining how prettily and enthusiastically he'd writhe beneath him if they ever filmed together, starts to understand why Gavin sent him the video.

"You've seen some of our videos, right?"

Humming happily, Tom bites his lip and slips his hand down to palm at the head of his cock while he strokes with the other. "I've seen them all."

That seems to please Gavin because he laughs again. "Well, I'm glad," he chuckles. "Any requests? We can see about setting you up to film with your favourite. Do you have a favourite?"

Tom's nod is immediate and certain, his eyes bright as he rubs a finger against the drop of precum forming at his slit. "I like your biggest guy. The Australian one. I'd want to get fucked by him."

Chris breathes sharply through his nose and tightens his palm around the shape of his cock through his pants, fighting the urge to get himself out and match the boy's strokes.

"You sure?" Gavin's voice huffs. "Chase doesn't go easy."

Chris' stage name - for no other reason than it was the first typically porny name that came into his head when he was asked the question.

"I know," Tom's voice sounds excited and more breathy than before. "That's why I like him. His videos always make me come so hard."

The camera moves again, from his cock to his face; his eyes bright and mischievous in the moment before they drop closed again. Gavin hums. "When you're touching yourself like this?"

Tom sighs gently in the affirmative, almost like he's too distracted now to properly answer the questions, but then he opens his mouth to say, "And I have...I have toys that I use."

"To fuck yourself while you watch?" Gavin asks, and when Tom nods again he continues, "We have toys. Shall I get somebody to bring something for you?"

It's a nice thought, that Tom might roll onto his stomach or maybe just lift his legs into the air and steadily fuck himself with a big, rubber cock, but Tom wrinkles his nose like the idea of using someone else's toy disgusts him, and Chris lets out a surprised little laugh.

"I'll use my fingers," Tom offers instead, already reaching for the lube again, and that's when Chris finally tugs the drawstring of his sweatpants loose and reaches inside.

-

A week later Chris is driving to Gavin's place. There's no traffic because it's only just gone six in the morning, he's got the radio on low and the window open a little to keep him awake. He hasn't slept much, too distracted by thoughts of how today might go, so he's hoping that the cold air will help.

Gavin has arranged for Chris to come in slightly early to get more used to the idea of the 'scenario' which had, initially, made Chris roll his eyes and complain a bit.

"Come on, Gav," Chris had groaned, propping his chin against his palm and knocking the phone against his forehead a few times before pulling it back to his ear. "You know I hate trying to act."

It's never been his forte, the scenario videos, he prefers to just spend the morning with a guy and then be put in the bedroom together for a brief interview and a nice, long fuck.

On the phone Gavin had sighed. "It's not like I'm asking you to follow a script here, I just want you to pretend to be a coach and fuck the kid. You know, tell him what a bad boy he is a few times, tap his cute little ass a bit..."

Chris had remained silent.

"He's up for it." Gavin had added. "Come on, you watched the video. He wants that dick, Chris. He wants it bad."

Somehow Chris had agreed.

He gets to Gavin's place only twenty minutes before Tom and Gavin leads him through into the room they've dressed to look like a locker room office. He has Chris sit in the chair, telling him to 'find the character'. It's stupid and Chris knows it, but he plays along, nodding and pulling curious faces as he opens empty drawers.

Mikey, the other camera man, pokes his head in some time later and announces Tom's arrival.

Chris thinks maybe Tom will be shy or overwhelmed around him, which has happened before with guys they've just brought in for a trial period, but Tom seems entirely unfazed by his presence as he shakes enthusiastic hands with Gavin and Mikey. He's wearing tight jeans and a shiny faux leather jacket, his hair is more curly than Chris remembers.

His eyes are bright and excited when finally he settles them on Chris, and his mouth morphs into the loveliest smile which transforms his face entirely.

Chris can't believe he's actually eighteen.

His jeans are so tight it's a wonder they don't squeak, his hips drifting ever so slightly side to side as he wanders over. His hand slips loose of his jacket pocket again for Chris to shake, fingers long and pale, and he lets the touch linger for longer than Chris would've. It's a little unnerving, really, how casual he seems, considering he's about to get fucked by a stranger.

"Did you watch my video?" he asks with the same rich, polished voice that Chris found so startling on tape. He's got a cheeky, expectant look on his face like he already knows the answer, so Chris just nods and tries not to let his expression shift at all. Tom smiles. "Good. Then you already know how much I'm going to enjoy this."

Chris can't think of anything to say, so he looks pleadingly at Gavin who directs them both off to separate rooms to change into their 'costumes'.

Back in the office Gavin tries to give him a pep talk but Chris zones him out, looking about the space and thinking about Tom's video and how rough he'd been with himself. He can handle it, he reassures himself.

Chris sits down in the chair, shifting around until he's comfortable, feeling ridiculous as he tries to get into the mindset of a coach. He feels ridiculous, but he doesn't have any time to dwell on it before Gavin makes a ridiculous arm gesture and the red lights on both cameras come on.

Chris shuffles the prop papers on the desk for something to do with his hands and then there's a series of light knocks on the office door.

"Come in," Chris calls out, leaning back and steepling his hands. Tom opens the door and pokes his head in and Chris makes a show of smiling for the cameras.

"Did you want to see me, sir?" Tom asks, apparently not struggling at all with the character. He sounds believably  like a schoolboy, all nervous and full of energy, and Chris beckons him inside.

"Close the door," he says, purposefully making the request sound ominous. Tom does as asked and then comes to stand before him, and Chris is surprised to find that his tight-fitting cheerleading uniform is trousers - he'd been so sure they were going to put the boy in a skirt.

Tom crosses his hands behind his back and looks expectantly down at Chris as though waiting for instruction.

Chris smiles, false and predatory. "You know that my team appreciates all the hard work that the cheerleaders do to support them," he starts, making it up as he goes along, "but I'm afraid it becomes a problem when the spectators are more focused on cheerleaders than on the game."

Tom nods, wide eyed. "I agree entirely, sir."

"And yet you keep making a spectacle of yourself, don't you." Chris doesn't say it like a question. He shakes his head, trying to look truly disappointed and probably failing, so he goes instead for good old anger. "Antics, Tom, at the side of the field. Distracting the crowd and, worse still, distracting my team."

Gavin coughs from the side and lifts the camera away from his face. "Say that part again, Chris. Remember his stage name's Oakley."

Chris winces and closes his eyes for a second, positive that he won't deliver it as well the second time. "Antics, _Oakley_ ," he says with less enthusiasm. "At the side of the field. Distracting the crowd and my players."

He flicks his eyes up to Tom's and sees a look of contrition on his face. He wonders, momentarily, what Tom is even doing there on a porno set with Chris who can't muster up false expressions on cue to save his life.

"You like to be looked at, hm?" he murmurs, tilting his head and letting his eyes trail up the length of the boy's body. "Like everybody to see you in that tight uniform?"

"No, sir," Tom mumbles, meeting his eyes briefly. "I just like cheering the team on."

Chris laughs. "You could do that from the stands. Be honest. It's okay to like being looked at..."

It's incredible how good Tom is at blushing on command, he looks entirely like the shy and virginal schoolboy he's supposed to be. He nods, subtly, and glances up once again to meet Chris' eyes.

Chris smiles, trying to look thoughtful. "Well now, what can we do about that? How do we satisfy your desire to be...observed, whilst keeping everyone's eyes on my team?"

Tom doesn't offer up anything, shuffling around on his feet anxiously. Chris has never been great at this sort of thing but, clearly, he won't be getting any help moving the 'plot' along from Tom, so he tips up his chin and lets his eyes trail from the top of Tom's head all the way down until his view is blocked by the desk between them.

"How about... _I_ look at you. Would you like that?"

Tom's eyes widen further, his hands slipping from behind his back to hang at his sides. He looks suspicious and worried, almost like he's considering taking a step back. Chris can't have that though, so he beckons the boy closer with a curled finger.

"I think you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He hums, watching Tom's face. "Letting me get a good, long look at you? I bet you've thought about it..."

Tom goes to shake his head but Chris holds up a hand.

"It's this or suspension from the cheerleading squad, Oakley, so I'd be very careful with your answer." Tom chews at his lip, looking worried, shifting his eyes back towards the door. Chris sighs. "You don't need to worry about being seen, everyone else is gone."

Tom nods his agreement, eventually, and lifts a hand to the collar of his tight cheerleading shirt. It's white, almost sheer, and his nipples are visible through it even before he's tugged it up over his head and off.

His torso is pale and slight, his upper arms thin like he hasn't had to do much lifting in his life. He doesn't look at all believable as a cheerleader. Chris has seen him before, of course, but it's different in person, and his eyes trail greedily across Tom's frame before settling back on his face.

"Good boy," Chris whispers, nodding encouragingly. "Keep going."

Tom whines low in his throat, tossing his shirt down and shifting his gaze about again as his fingers slip into the waistband of his white pants.

When only his underwear is left he hesitates, like maybe he thinks the coach will let him off with only this, but Chris shakes his head gently. "Let me see all of you. We need to satisfy this desire of yours to be centre of attention."

Tom nods, lips tilting down at the corners. He's making this more dubious than Chris had expected, consent-wise, but Gavin doesn't seem remotely concerned so Chris keeps it up, gesturing for Tom to go on. He bends at the waist to slip his underwear down his legs before stepping out of them and looking back to Chris for either praise or instruction. Chris is hard as a rock, desperate to palm at his cock through his shorts.

"How does that feel?" he breathes. "Do you feel as good as you look? Turn around."

Tom does, slowly, running his hands from his ribs down to his hips and back up again. He does a full circle and then faces Chris again, blushing just slightly.

"See? I knew you'd like it." Chris licks his dry mouth and tilts his head towards the desk. "Get up on the desk."

Tom steps closer, hesitating slightly before lifting a knee. He might be playing a frightened virgin but he can't disguise his bobbing erection as he lifts himself onto the wooden desk. Chris wants to lean forward and nuzzle at it, take Tom into his mouth, but he feels like that's out of character so he remains in his seat and flashes Tom an amused look.

"Turn around," he orders, swivelling his fingers. "I want you facing the door with your knees spread and your back arched."

Like a good boy Tom does as he's told, albeit slowly, and Chris settles back in his chair as Tom widens his stance and presses backwards, exposing himself for Chris and the camera over his shoulder. It's, quite frankly, the best arse Chris has seen in some time, which is surprising on such a lean, young man. Tom's hole, a dark promise set within a sparse nestle of light hairs, twitches and contracts beneath Chris' gaze.

Chris longs to touch, his knuckles white against the arms of the chair. He breathes appreciatively, enjoying the view. "You have the prettiest arse, do you know that?"

"No, sir," Tom grunts, doing a brilliant job of sounding ashamed.

Chris tries to be equally convincing when he says, surprised, "Nobody's ever told you that?"

"S-sir," Tom stutters, shuffling his knees slightly further apart, trying to get comfortable on the hardwood. "No one has ever...seen me like this."

Chris hums like he doesn't believe him, spreading his cheeks wider apart and rubbing solidly at his entrance with a dry thumb. Tom whines and presses back, too pushy for the character he's playing, and Chris draws his hand back to slap his fingertips against Tom's hole.

"Be good," he barks, grinning at the sound it draws out of him. He parts Tom's cheeks again, squeezing and palming his buttocks, humming thoughtfully. "You ever played with yourself here?"

Tom whines, embarrassed, and nods.

"Show me," Chris drawls, satisfied. "Reach back here and play with your hole."

He presses a small bottle of lube against Tom's hand when he reaches back, depressing the button four or five times until there's a generous amount of slick between Tom's fingers, and then sits back to watch as Tom holds himself open with one hand and circles his pucker with one long digit. Tom moans at the touch, a sound which may be genuine or may not, and then without preamble presses the tip of his index finger inside. It's swallowed up to the first knuckle and Chris watches with interest as Tom shifts his wrist to get a better angle, getting deeper with the next thrust.

It's like the video only this time Chris is just a foot away, can hear Tom's excited breathing, the wet sound as he pulls his finger out and slips two in. He wants to touch but he resists, letting Tom play the hesitant student and prod around at his own hole for a while. He regrets using so much lube; the glistening wetness around Tom's pucker and slowly dripping down his perineum is nice, but Chris hates the taste of the lube these guys buy in and wishes he'd got a chance to taste his costar earlier.

_Next time_ , he thinks, and the thought surprises him.

Tom's two fingers are sliding in and out with ease now, a lovely slick sound accompanying his pretty moans, and Chris pushes his chair back so he can stand without jostling Tom. He lets his fingers trail from Tom's hip up to his shoulder as he rounds the desk, coming to stand before Tom, seeing his pretty face all slack with pleasure.

"Ever sucked a cock before?"

Tom blinks his eyes open and visibly swallows. "...no."

"But you want to, don't you?" Chris nods. He runs his fingers through Tom's hair, letting his blunt nails scrape gently along his scalp, and Tom shivers, nodding. Chris sighs. "I'm going to reward you for your honesty, Oakley. Give you what you want. But you have to ask for it."

Tom's eyes slip slow up to his, his pink lips parting softly. He blinks a few times, exaggerated and clearly intended to give the impression of innocence. "I want to...suck your cock, sir."

Pleased, Chris presses his clothed groin against Tom's face, lets the boy feel the hard outline of his cock beneath the cheap material of his shorts. Tom reaches forward to undo the drawstring, two fingers slick with lube, and Chris leans over to slap the top of his arse. "Ah-ah," he chides, clucking his tongue. "Keep fingering yourself. Three fingers now. I want you loose enough to take this fat dick."

Tom's moan is muffled against Chris' shorts but he does as he's told, reaching back again dutifully. Chris hears the sound of him slipping his fingers back inside himself and he smiles, reaching down to loosen his own waistband before pulling the material down beneath his balls.

His cock is thick and flushed an angry pink, hard since Tom first started taking his clothes off, and it slaps up against his belly the second it's released from its confinement. Tom falls out of character for a moment, his expression clearly one of absolute joy at the sight of Chris' hard cock 'in the flesh', but he manages to slip back into 'schoolboy' mode before long.

"Don't worry," Chris murmurs smugly, palming himself, "I won't make you choke on it. Not the first time."

There's barely a moment for Tom to look alarmed before Chris angles his cock towards the boy's mouth and makes it clear what he wants. Tom, ever the good student, lays an innocent little kiss at the tip, drawing away to lick at his mouth curiously.

Chris has been directed to play rough but something about that pleases him, makes an affection swell in his chest, and his own mouth curls up in a soft smile. He runs his fingers through Tom's curls once again and rocks his hips forward to bump his cockhead against Tom's lips. Tom's tongue pokes out again, this time catching beneath Chris' slit and making him hiss.

"Don't play with it," he chides, smile giving way to a clenched jaw. "Suck it."

And Tom does, with a sweet enthusiasm that makes Chris wonder if he's telling the truth about never having done it. Maybe he does have a collection of porn and toys at home that he uses to get himself off but sucking cock, for real, requires somebody else to be present. It's probably wishful thinking, he knows, but he's almost able to convince himself that he really will be the first real cock Tom's ever had.

The blowjob is good; messy and eager, and Tom looks up at Chris through his lashes the entire time, only blinking his eyes closed whenever he bobs too far and ends up spluttering around Chris' thick length, tip prodding at the back of his throat. He can't use his hands because he's still fingering himself, so Chris gets fingers beneath his chin and uses them to guide and support him, rocking his hips too, though not too deep.

The window behind Tom offers enough of a reflection that he can see Tom working three fingers inside of himself, as he was told, and Chris can't decide which is the better view between his mouth and his busy fingers.

Tom moans when Chris pulls away, his chin shiny with his own drool, his eyes hooded with arousal. He turns his head to rub his wet chin against his shoulder, a damn shame if you ask Chris, and then keeps his head turned to watch as Chris moves around him.

He stops behind the boy, watching Tom's fingers still inside of himself as he looks unsure over his shoulder. While the camera is focused on his hole Chris takes the opportunity to roll on a condom; Tom watches, moans out a shaky breath. His three fingers are still inside when Chris presses his thumb in alongside them and Tom jolts forward away from the intrusion, slipping his own fingers free without permission.

Chris chuckles. "What's wrong, you can't take it? I told you to get yourself loose for me."

"I did, I can- I can take it," Tom babbles, wiping his slick fingers against his thigh. He's shaking, but it seems to be from excitement more than real nerves - though Chris does dip at the knees slightly to get a look at Tom's still-hard cock dripping precum onto the table top. "You surprised me, sir, I'm sorry."

Chris only shrugs, lifting his eyes to Tom's and removing his thumb onto to push three thick fingers in instead. He hasn't lubed them so there's resistance but Tom bears down like a pro and takes him in, tipping his head back and moaning.

"That's right," Chris hums, watching with greedy eyes as his fingers are swallowed up. "Why don't you fuck yourself on my fingers, hmm? Rock back for me."

He lets Tom hump back onto his fingers for a little while, using his other hand to pour more lube and beginning to twist and shove deeper, enjoying Tom's stuttered breathes and choked-off whines of pleasure. He jabs deep a few times, pondering the logistics of twisting his wrist up and trying to force his little finger in too, but then Tom grits out, drops down onto his elbows and lets his head fall forward to hang between his arms.

"Please," he says, shaking his head. "I can't- _fuck_ , please, I can't..."

Chris studies his co-star, flushed at the tips of his ears, skin textured with goosebumps, his whole body shaking just slightly. He's not sure Tom is in character right now but it doesn't matter - Chris can't remember ever wanting to get his cock inside somebody so badly.

"What do you want, baby, hmm?" he whispers. He takes his cock in hand and rocks his hips forward to slide the tip along Tom's crack, gritting his teeth against a hiss when he bumps against Tom's entrance. He rocks forward just a little more, not enough to push inside but enough to make Tom feel it. "Come on, be a good boy and tell me what you want."

Tom keens, lifting his head and tipping his hips up just slightly in offering. He's got one camera by his face and the other zeroing in on his greedy hole where Chris is waiting for his answer. "Want to be fucked, sir, please."

Chris huffs, making sure the cameras pick up the derisive sound. "I need a little more than that, sweetheart."

He isn't sure where all of the endearments are coming from but there's something about this, about having Tom with his hole on display ready to be fucked, that's really working for him in a way that a lot of his shoots don't these days. He's desperate to get his cock inside Tom, to make him beg, but he also wants for Tom to feel good.

Tom presses his hips back, shaking his head. "Please, please, I want your cock, need it, sir, please. Fuck me with it. Fuck me with your fat cock, sir-"

He chokes on the rest, rocked forward by the shock of Chris pushing inside. He's tighter than Chris expected, his muscles resisting the unexpected thrust despite the force Chris put into it, driven to roughness by the desperation in Tom's voice.

"That what you want?" he grunts, grabbing at Tom's thin hips to position him better and letting his fingertips dig in.

He goes as slow as he can, fucking deep and long into Tom's slick heat with what little restraint he can muster. It's good, feels so good, and he finds himself leaning down over Tom's back to mouth at his shoulder blades, biting and kissing, feeling the cold metal of his character's whistle against his skin as it becomes trapped between their bodies.

"I've got you," he says, running his mouth at random. "I know what you need, baby, it's okay, gonna fuck you so hard you'll feel me all week. And then," he draws in a surprised breath as Tom squeezes his hole tight around him, "and then I know you're going to come crawling back for some more. Aren't you?"

He gets a nod in response, and Tom rocks back hard and fast against his next thrust.

Chris can't help but laugh a little. "You want it harder?" He snaps his hips forward roughly and Tom groans, nodding again with more force. Chris shakes his head even though Tom can't see him. "You have to say it, sweetheart. You have to tell me what you want."

Nothing, no verbal response at all, although Tom does squeeze playfully again and Chris realises that he's playing along with the character, playing shy. He stands up properly, careful to let his cock slip out until only the head remains inside. He holds Tom still with his hips, preventing him from fucking back.

"You want me to stop? Want me to fuck your mouth again instead and make you leave this office without coming? I'll do it, boy, if you don't tell me what I want to hear." Tom moans, trying to force his hips back against the tight hold but Chris doesn't give an inch. He waits, hanging on just a second, and then he thrusts once; a deep, hard jab that rocks Tom forward and makes him cry out.

Tom throws his head back, revealing the length of his flushed throat to the camera by his face.

"Yes, fuck it, fuck that virgin hole," he cries, completely over the top and out of character, but Chris goes with it, slipping a hand up Tom's clammy back until he can wind his fingers tightly in his curls. He yanks Tom's head back further and fucks him with everything he's got, enjoying the tight sounds forced out of his taut throat with each thrust.

"I knew it," Chris huffs, jaw stiff, "Knew you'd be a slut for my cock the second I saw you."

Tom wails some more as Chris bends a knee and rests his foot on the edge of the desk, bettering the angle for Tom's increased pleasure and getting more leverage behind his thrusts. Tom is rocked forward with every jab of Chris' hips but he presses back with as much force. "Yes, yes, _yes_ ," he babbles, sounding almost drunk, "I'm your slut, sir."

Chris tightens his hold and fucks him harder, unable to think of anything else to say, focused now on getting them both across the finish line. Tom's shoulder shifts as he gets a hand beneath himself to tug at his own cock and Chris allows it, enjoying the last of Tom's shuddering moans as he comes. He tightens up, inner muscles grasping covetously at Chris' cock while he continues to thrust, contracting and squeezing at him until his balls tighten up. He pulls out just in time, tearing the condom off and coming generously across Tom's buttocks and lower back.

Tom's breath is laboured, his knees apparently too weak to keep him up as he slips them back down to the floor and lets his belly drop to the come-splattered desk. Chris palms at his arse, exposing his puffy, red hole for a moment before slipping his fingers up to collect some of the come pooled at his lower back.

"Make him lick it off," Gavin says - the only direction he's given for the whole video, and Chris does as he's told, grunting the instruction at Tom and biting his own lower lip as Tom sucks gently at his fingertips.

"Good boy," he says one last time, and Tom offers him a small smile.

There's another arm gesture from Gavin and then the red lights go off and Tom drops fully out of character, grinning sleepily. "Wow," he says, shaking his head. "I might never walk again."

Gavin laughs. "You were warned, kid."

-

Afterwards Chris pats at Tom's hip in a weird sort of 'thank you' before heading off to the shower. Sometimes Gavin makes the boys slot into one tiny cubicle and wash each other off but today he's allowed to shower in peace, lathering up his body and sensitive cock without any cameras poking around.

His hair hangs wet and dripping dark patches onto his t-shirt when he steps back out but he doesn't mind, quite likes the idea of taking his cheque and heading home, probably to bed.

Tom is there when he reaches the main room, hanging over Gavin's shoulder and watching a clip on the camera screen. He laughs, pointing at something and nodding in agreement with something Gavin says, and then the pair of them look up and see Chris in the doorway.

"This looks great, Chris," Gavin nods, snapping the screen shut. Tom looks a little disappointed but stands up properly and nods again.

He sounds surprisingly shy when he says, "I had a lot of fun," and then he smiles softly, shrugging.

"Me too," Chris says, because he can't think of anything else to say and also because it's true. Gavin's eyes move between them and he's grinning stupidly so Chris turns away to pick up his bag. "So, uh," he says, not looking back at either of them. "I've got something going on back home, I'm sorry to rush off but..."

Gavin nods, already reaching for the envelope in his breast pocket. If Tom looks disappointed Chris decides not to notice. What did the kid think was going to happen, anyway?

He drives home with the radio droning quietly in the background, tapping his fingers erratically on the leather steering wheel . He thinks about Tom's hungry body and his eager mouth, his silly hair, his eyes. He thinks about fucking him in a bed.

He makes it home within an hour and a half and wonders why he didn't notice that he was speeding.

There's already a voicemail on his phone from Gavin about doing it again, and although Chris doesn't call for two days he's made up his mind by the time the message is over.

-

The shoot is arranged for two weeks later and with each passing day Chris finds the curl of excitement in his stomach growing more intense. No acting this time, he'd made Gavin promise. He just wants to get Tom on a bed and fuck him until he cries.

He's at his desk at work with three days to go until the shoot when Gavin calls him. Chris wouldn't usually answer at the office, especially since he shares with five other people, but if plans have changed he wants to know right away.

"Hey Gav," he says, aiming for casual. His eyes flick around the office but nobody's paying attention.

"Chris, he's fucked us," Gavin says, voice full of both anger and panic. It's not a tone Chris is used to from him and so he takes pause, putting his pen down. "That little bastard has fucked us."

"What are you talking about?"

He worries that Tom has changed his mind, that he either doesn't want to be involved in the site anymore or, worse, that maybe he doesn't want to shoot with Chris again. A deep frown creases Chris' forehead as he dips his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath and waits for the bad news, but it’s far worse than he could’ve imagined.

"He faked his fucking birth certificate," Gavin sounds like he wants to kill someone, and Chris' entire body goes cold as if somebody has thrown a bucket of ice-water over him. “He's sixteen, Chris. You've fucked a minor and it went live on the site over a week ago."

-


	2. Chapter 2

For weeks it's a shitstorm. The site gets shut down and taken over for the duration of an investigation, one that forces every single one of the actors, both current and past, to provide identification and birth certificates. Gavin and his investors are subjected to a series of lengthy investigations and members of the site write-in in hoards to have their fees refunded.

When Chris gets called in for interview it's the worst moment of his life, nerves crawling up his throat to choke him, much worse than his first few scenes for the site. He knows it'll be bad as soon as he walks into the clinical, white interview room and spots the television on wheels in the centre.

They've got the video, of course, and they begin to play it without any preamble. Chris wants to sink down in his seat, watching - not for the first time - as Tom slinks all pretty into the room in his little uniform and glances up from under his lashes. He'd played young and naive so well, and Chris begins to lose hope that the investigating officers won't think him guilty of an offense.

They pause it before anything really happens, just making Chris confirm that it's him in the recording and then asking him all sorts of leading questions, insinuating that he knew Tom's real age, insinuating that they chose the schoolboy theme for that very reason.

Chris tells them everything he knows with as much honesty as he can, knee juddering nervously beneath the table, shaking fingers scrubbing at his eyes when the meaner of the two officers asks him if he's ever had sex with a minor before.

By the end they seem to feel sorry for him more than anything, and Chris nearly cries when he gets back into his car outside.

On his way home he calls Gavin and requests a termination of his contract.

-

"His parents are rich," Gavin says bitterly the next time they talk. Chris isn't really sure why he keeps answering the calls but Gavin seems to need somebody to talk to.

Trying to placate him, Chris shrugs and offers, "Well, at least we know he was doing it out of choice and not desperation, I guess?"  
  
"Yeah," Gavin's voice drips with sarcasm. "My entire company has gone under and I've spent the last month being investigated by the FBI, but at least the kid had fun."

He ends the call with the news that he intends to sue Tom for damages and Chris decides that it'll be the last call that he answers.

-

Everything goes comfortably quiet again, to Chris' relief, and he attempts to forget everything about the past few months. He doesn't miss the cameras but he does miss the money and the frequent sex, finding himself spending more time alone with his palm than he'd like.  
  
Several times a week he goes to his email inbox and hovers over the email Gavin sent him months ago - _'So what do you think?'_. A couple of times he even opens it but then paranoia kicks in and he shuts the whole laptop down and goes for a tepid shower.

-  
  
It's two months later when Chris sees him, just casually crossing the street with his hands shoved into his pockets and a satchel over his shoulder.

At first Chris can't believe it - he looks so studious and innocent that Chris almost convinces himself that it's the wrong person, but then he turns and its clearly him, pink cheeked and a little windswept.

Chris has no idea what possesses him to follow but he can't help himself, following on foot at what he hopes is an inconspicuous distance.

Tom only stops once, ducking into a corner shop for two minutes before reappearing with a bottle of water and a newspaper. It's all incredibly normal. Eventually they turn off the high street towards the housing district and Chris realises that Tom must be heading for home; that if he carries on following him now he'll be easier to spot in the thinning crowds.

He carries on anyway, drawn by impulse and curiosity.

Within two blocks they're completely alone, Tom walking at the same steady pace up ahead without a care in the world. It's not until he has to cross the road again that he turns, checking for traffic, and his eyes catch on Chris. Like a deer in the headlights he freezes in place, eyes wide. Chris can't even imagine what's running through Tom's head but before Chris can say anything to reassure him he takes off, flying out in front of a car that blares an angry horn.

Chris has little choice but to follow, waiting at least until the car is gone before making chase. Tom is quick, though hindered by his satchel, and Chris tells himself that it's only because he doesn't know the area that Tom is able to take him by surprise and dart away down an alley.

Broken bottles and god-knows-what-else crunch underfoot as they run, and at the end of the alleyway Tom skids on his posh shoes and takes a right. When Chris follows he finds that they're at the car park of a grotty old block of flats, the concrete stained a greenish-grey over time, cracked paint on the window frames. It certainly doesn't look like the sort of place a rich kid would live, and yet Tom swipes a keycard and dashes inside.

Chris follows, crashing through the main door before it can close and leave him locked out, and immediately freezes, faced not with Tom but with a tall woman emptying her mailbox, two kids strapped into a pram beside her. She looks at him, eyes darting up the stairs where Tom must've gone, and Chris lifts his hand in a polite wave.

"Hi," he breathes as casually as he can despite the sound of Tom's frantic footsteps echoing down the stairwell. She gives him a lingering once over, suspicious, but then decides she doesn't care enough to challenge him and turns back to her mailbox. Chris hesitates just a fraction of a moment before taking off up the stairs.

Tom's at least two floors above him, probably taking the stairs two at a time, but his breaths sound laboured and the more floors they climb the more Chris gains on him. Each floor has four ugly blue doors, most of which sport wonky brass numbers, and Chris starts to feel dizzy as he tries to read them. He doesn't know what floor they're on, doesn't know how many steps he's ran up, and his chest is starting to burn from the exertion. It's so ridiculous that he could almost laugh if he wasn't terrified that Tom might call the police and report that the pervert who was filmed fucking him a few months ago had added stalking to his repertoire.

Suddenly the footsteps stop, replaced by the heavy rattle of a door being wrenched open. Chris skids to a stop as he reaches the next floor and spots Tom standing inside the doorway at the far end of the hall, one hand on the door, shoulders heaving. His expression is unreadable but his eyes are wide, and Chris shows his palms in a gesture of surrender.

"Why did you run?" He asks, trying to catch his breath. He's never been fond of running, particularly sprinting, and ridiculously he wishes he was dressed better.

Tom looks incredulous. "You were chasing me!"

His usually-honeyed voice is ragged from the running, his hair even more windswept than it was before. Chris can't be sure what he'll try to do if he gets near him - throttle him or kiss him - so instead he laughs. "I wasn't chasing you until you ran!"

It's something of a stand-off; neither moving, just the pair of them eyeing each other and trying to remember to breathe. Tom doesn't seem in any great rush to close the door, and his expression has taken on more of a look of intrigue than concern. He raises one neat eyebrow, still puffing out harsh breaths.

"You were following me, though. Weren't you?" He's so confident in his question that it's clear Chris doesn't need to answer. "Why?"

Helplessly, Chris answers the only way he can. A shrug of his shoulders and a sigh. "I don't know."

Tom nods as though he's satisfied with the non-answer, and shifts from foot to foot. His fidgeting is proof enough that he's still nervous, but he tries to be casual when he chews his lip and says, "Well I don't know why I ran. I suppose I panicked. I thought you were going to shout at me."

A beat of anger flares up in Chris' chest as he remembers sitting in the cold interview room being interrogated, Tom's face staring out at him from the small television screen with a similarly innocent expression to the one he wears now.

"I might shout at you, you little shit," he says, shaking his head, but despite his anger there's no real heat in it. "Do you know how much trouble you caused?"

Swallowing, Tom nods. "I know they closed the site down." He does seem a little contrite, but not nearly as much as Chris thinks he should, and then he looks up through his eyelashes and the corner of his mouth curls up slightly with the hint of a smirk. "Thankfully I already had all of your videos saved to my hard drive."

He seems to feel very little guilt about any of it, and Chris gets the distinct feeling that he should be terrified of Tom, of the trouble he's capable of causing, but when Tom backs into his flat with one eyebrow raised like a dare, Chris finds himself following.

He doesn't go far inside, just hovers in the doorway at first, but from there he can see that the interior is as modest as the exterior; a little two room place with a small kitchenette at the far end of the main living space. Tom slips through a door to the right into what must be the bedroom, and the only other doors are a half-open cupboard with coats and jackets crammed inside and the tiniest bathroom Chris has ever seen.

"Why do you live here?" He calls towards the bedroom. "Gavin said you had money..."

For a moment there's no answer, the place as quiet as if Tom had disappeared into thin air, but then his head appears around the doorframe. "Oh, I'm _of_ money, I don't _have_ money."

Chris lifts his shoulders. "What's the difference?"

"Being born into a rich family doesn't mean I have any real money of my own." Tom edges out of the bedroom and towards the kitchenette, grabbing two plastic cups and running the tap. "They were always a little distressed by my oddities, really, and they're livid about my more recent...transgressions. Do you know that I'm being sued?"

He walks over with one cup outstretched, stopping when he's just close enough for Chris to take it. Chris clears his throat but doesn't answer.

Tom huffs, taking a sip. "My parents have hired the best lawyer, of course. They're determined that the lawsuit will be dropped. But they're threatening that the fees will come from my trust fund even if it takes up every penny."

It's clear that this bothers Tom; that given the choice he wouldn't be living in a place like this. He doesn't seem to have any concept of the effect his actions have had on anyone other than himself, or perhaps he just doesn't care. Chris knows he should walk away now but he needs to know which it is.

"Do you know I was interrogated by the FBI?" he says, still upset about it and hoping it shows in his voice. "They kept me in this tiny room for over an hour and tried to make me confess to being some kind of pervert."

When he looks back at Tom he's surprised to find that the boy looks mortified, his eyes wide and his mouth slack in surprise, eyes flickering rapidly back and forth as if he's imagining the scenario in his head.

"Chris, I'm-" he snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head. "I didn't know that."

Searching his face, Chris finds nothing but sincerity there. He's not sure why he's so relieved. "So you do actually care."

"Of course I care, I didn't want you to get into any trouble, I just wanted..." he trails off, glancing up at Chris as though he's a little embarrassed.

"You just wanted to have some fun, with no thought of the consequences for everyone else."

The little breath Tom lets out tells Chris that he's not used to people speaking so plainly with him, and he almost feels sorry for him. Tom edges stiffly to drop down into the creaky sofa, swallowing down his water almost in one gulp.

"There was more to it than just having fun," he says, and Chris can't contain his noise of disbelief. He's not interested in Tom's excuses, and wants to tell him so, but then the boy lets out a huff of his own and pats the seat beside him. "Look, will you sit? I feel weird with you towering over me like that."

With a grip on his untouched water Chris does as asked, but sits on the chair opposite. Tom's face scrunches up like he's unhappy about it but not entirely surprised.

"So, when I was thirteen," he starts, pausing to study Chris as if he expects him to roll his eyes. "When I was thirteen I watched gay porn for the first time, and I suppose it kind of made me feel...validated or something? You see gay guys on television but they don't do anything, they don't kiss or touch, it felt good to see...you know, men fucking and being fucked and enjoying each other. It was arousing but it was more than that, too."

Chris nods, not really sure why Tom is telling him this.

"I got addicted. And I don't mean that in a figurative sense, I mean that all day every day I thought about porn, I signed up to all these sites and hid in my room every night watching video after video, eating it all up. Didn't even matter what the guys looked like, I just needed to watch. When my dad noticed the bills on his credit card they sent me to a therapist."

There's a little frown on his face, clearly not a particularly fond memory, and Chris finds himself leaning forwards in his chair. He supposes that having a good knack for storytelling is what allowed Tom to fool them all in the first place.

"The therapy didn't change anything but I played the good, reformed boy, of course. Almost as a form of revenge against my parents I started putting things inside myself, all sorts of things just to see how they felt."

His voice shakes a little with that confession, almost enough to make Chris ask for some examples but he doesn't ask because he doesn't want the images in his head.

"I got my first dildo at fifteen - again using dad's credit card. It was too big, damn near hurt myself trying to force it in, so I bought a few smaller ones, worked my way up to it. And I loved them. So I bought more, and more. Vibrators, plugs, beads, prostate massagers, cock rings, you name it. I was giving myself multiple orgasms a day with all these toys and it occurred to me that my first time, my first real time, was probably going to be a disappointment in comparison."

Chris had lost his virginity with a girl when he'd been young enough not to feel any pressure about sex, and his first time with a guy had been a revelation, leaving him utterly satisfied. He'd never considered sex or virginity an overly serious matter.

Tom, though, looks incredibly sincere.

"I realised that if I wanted my first time to be good I'd have to do something...extreme." He presses his palms together then, looking up at Chris is if awaiting a response. "You were always my favourite."

When it dawns on him what Tom's insinuating Chris shakes his head vehemently, refusing to accept it. "Come on," he says, "don't feed me lines, we're not in a porno now."

Tom lifts his chin, shrugs one shoulder. "I'm not lying. Why would I lie about that? I was a virgin."

Chris remembers it much too clearly. "You took my cock like a pro, Tom, you weren't a virgin."

"I told you, _I use toys_ ," Tom insists, standing up. "I'd never been fucked for real, not until you. I swear."

When he sees that Chris still isn't convinced Tom marches into the other room, reaching beneath the bed to yank out a large wooden box. He pulls it with such force that it skids almost into the living room. Chris stands, edging over warily, almost frightened of the concept that Tom is telling the truth.

"What the fuck is that," he says once he's inside the bedroom, and his eyes nearly fall out of his skull when Tom flips the lid to reveal the most extensive array of sex toys he's ever seen. Blinking to clear his vision, Chris stands and steps closer to make absolutely sure of what he's seeing.

Every variety of sex toy is housed within, all neatly sectioned off into their own little compartments; a series of shiny metals in one corner and, beside them, a colourful group of toys that look to be made of rubber, then in another compartment plastics and glasses, and lastly a handful of curved and ribbed toys in individual plastic cases. They range in size and shape, from the almost-uselessly small to a dildo so big Chris is sure no human could actually get it inside of them - of course, that doesn't stop his traitorous brain from conjuring up the image of Tom trying.

He clears his throat.

Tom's expression is an odd mixture of pride and alarm, almost as if this is the first time he's really considered the size of his collection. "I got a little bit addicted to these too, perhaps."

Chris can't tear his eyes away, glancing rapidly from one thing to the next inside the box. He's particularly intrigued by the item in the left-bottom corner, large and wrapped lovingly in silk cloth. "You think?"

As if sensing his intrigue, Tom steps into his space, slow and purposeful like a feline, and tips his chin up. He smells so good, sweet, and tentatively his fingertips skip up Chris' t-shirt to rest below the hollow of his throat.

"They're so fun though. I could show you."

Heat grips at the base of Chris' spine and renders him momentarily dumb, his head filling with hazy images of Tom in all sorts of positions with all sorts of toys. He wants to kiss him, wants to throw him down onto the bed, but he doesn't. Can't.

Instead he allows a mean twist to mar his expression and takes hold of Tom's wrist. "You think you just need to tell me a sad story and show me a box of fake cocks and all is forgiven? You think I'm that easy?"

Tom's lips part in surprise; clearly he did think it would be that easy and he's momentarily thrown. A small frown creases his forehead.

"I know you liked fucking me."

Chris can't deny that, not without looking completely transparent, but he refuses to indulge Tom's narcissism. "It was a _job_ , Tom."

It's almost startling how quickly Tom's expression shifts from seductive to angry, livid even, and he rips his wrist out of Chris' grasp and shoves him away.

"Well if you won't fuck me I'll go and find somebody who will!"

He looks like a mad little dog, all bared teeth and wrinkled nose, shoving at Chris again when he doesn't immediately leave.

"Okay," he nods, voice neutral despite the momentary burn of panic in his chest at just the thought of it.

It seems to make Tom even angrier, even wilder, his volume increasing significantly when he waves his arms around and threatens, "Lots of somebodies! _Hundreds of them_!"

The worst is that Chris believes him; the conviction in his voice and the determination in his eyes, he believes that Tom will do it. For a while, between the first time his name tripped off Tom's lips in his solo video and the moment the truth of his age was revealed, Chris had actually, stupidly, felt a little bit special.

"Good for you, you little psychopath!" He turns, shaking his head as he goes, unable to believe that he's actually jealous that other men might fuck the kid who almost got him put on the sex offenders register. "You can be their problem."

He's almost through the bedroom door when a large purple dildo bounces off the wall by his head.

"What the fuck-" he spits out as he ducks another projectile - this time the thickest black plug that he's ever seen, which rolls to land upright between his legs. He can't help but stare at it, mouth agape.

"You can have that to _go and fuck yourself_ with!" Tom hisses, looking angrier than anyone Chris has ever seen.

"No thanks," he snarks. "Unlike you I don't have trouble finding real people to fuck me."

When the next flying toy gets him right between the eyes he supposes he might've deserved it, and he almost laughs, but they don't stop coming - metal vibes, rubber cocks and even one ribbed glass one which hits the floor with a heavy clunk - and there's no escape but to take the projectiles from Tom by force.

"Tom!" he yells, storming over, still dodging flying dildos. One hits him on the shoulder and he's so close that it actually hurts, and he's so annoyed that he doesn't even try to be gentle once he's got hold of Tom by the upper arms. He shakes him, holding him inches from his face as he grits his teeth and shouts, "Are you insane?!"

He shakes perhaps a little harder than is necessary, so roughly that Tom's teeth clack together when he tries to answer and his speech comes out broken when he says, "N-no, get o-off!"

Chris let's go so fast Tom almost falls backwards and when he's righted himself again he's scowling like a feral child. He kicks a plug across the room and turns his back, shoulders rising and falling as he breathes heavier now than after the run.

"I thought you liked me," he says in a quiet, bitter voice. "My mistake."

Incredibly, Chris actually feels bad for a moment, filled with the strange impulse to comfort Tom, but he suspects that it's just another part of the act and he hates that, hates that Tom has him doubting his own instincts. He looks around the room, clean and tidy except for the sex toys scattered everywhere, and sighs.

"Nobody likes a liar, Tom."

He assumes they're done, sure that Tom turning his back was a dismissal, but he's less than a foot away when a string of anal beads hit him between the shoulder blades. That's it; that's all he can take. Something about the inoffensive pitter-patter of them hitting the ground incenses him, has him spinning on his heel.

"Right," he grits through his teeth as Tom bends to grab another toy from the box. Before he can stand up straight again Chris is at his side, gripping him tightly by the back of the neck. He whines, tries to twist away, and as he does Chris sweeps his feet out from under him.

Tom lands on his arse with an 'oof', ankles splayed wide, and Chris takes the opportunity to drop to his knees between them.

"Is this what you wanted, you little slut?" He growls, pressing Tom back with a heavy hand until his shoulders hit the floor. Tom gasps, trying to sit up again, and Chris shoves him once again. Impatiently he tugs at the button of Tom's jeans until it gives, yanking so hard the zip sounds like it breaks. "You wanted to get me worked up?"

"Yes," Tom whimpers, lifting his thighs so that Chris is better able to rid him of his jeans. " _Yes_ , I need it, please. It's all I want."

Chris nods, pleased with the certainty in Tom's voice. It drives him on, keeps him from changing his mind. Tom seems to be with him every step, reaching for the lube before Chris can even ask for it.

He's not gentle as he shoves Tom's knees apart and up towards his chest, gripping tight onto his pale skin. Part of him hopes that every touch leaves a mark.

Tom isn't shy, not like he pretended to be when he was playing schoolboy, and he lets Chris look his fill. The cheeks of his arse are so pert and round that Chris wants to sink his teeth into them, his hole as sweet and inviting as Chris remembers, and when he presses one finger inside it gives like warm butter, swallowing him all the way to the knuckle. He's so tight and warm, so inviting, and Chris has to stop to breathe.

"Jesus, when did you-" He lets his eyes flash up to Tom's face, his lips already parting around quickened breaths, and pulls out only to press two fingers inside without warning. Tom gasps, cock twitching. "When did you last fuck yourself?"

"This morning," Tom whispers, and Chris knows that it's true.

"And when before that?"

With a whine Tom tips his hips up to chase Chris' retreating fingers, whining when he pulls them free completely. He really is like an addict getting his fill, reaching down to spread his cheeks and expose his hole further. "Last night. _More, please_."

Chris gives him what he wants, twisting his wrist as he fucks three fingers inside. It's so easy, Tom relaxes his muscles like a pro and humps up into it until Chris is knuckles deep, keening prettily and dropping his head back. As he begins to fuck into him with a steady rhythm Chris glances around, wondering what toy Tom might've used. "You fuck yourself every day?"

Tom nods, clenches his teeth together as Chris pulls out and dribbles more lube into his fingers, clustering all four of them together and pressing the tips against Tom's fluttering hole. Tom, despite his arousal, sounds like he's smiling. "At least every day. Usually more."

"You're insatiable, hm?"

Tom opens his mouth to answer but Chris chooses that moment to force all four fingers inside, only to the middle knuckle because Tom whimpers and tries to pull his hips away. Chris doesn't doubt Tom can and does routinely shove four of his own fingers inside himself but his hands are slender, his fingers significantly thinner than Chris' are, and the careless shove clearly steals his breath. He's not smiling anymore, and some dark part of Chris counts that as a win.

"I know what you are. Greedy little slut," he says, surprised by the pitch of his own voice. "You make such pretty demands but you better be ready for what I've got for you."

He's only able to fuck his fingers very slowly in and out, enjoying the pull of Tom's tight hole. Leaning down gives him a better angle to force his fingers deeper, along with the added benefit of having Tom's mouth close to his ear, his desperate panting drowning out all other sounds.

"What are you, baby? Will you say it?" He adopts a gentle tone, whispering softly as if he's murmuring sweet nothings, laying kisses along Tom's throat. Tom shudders. "You're a slut, aren't you?"

Whining again, Tom reaches down between them as best he can to grip at Chris' wrist, as if he's worried that Chris might try to shove his whole fist inside. He's slick enough, that's for sure, but Chris doesn't want to ruin his pretty hole any more than Tom wants it ruined and so he pulls his fingers loose, angles his palm down to slap his wet fingers against Tom's hole, enjoying the little yelp it causes.

"I'm not a slut," Tom shakes his head, chin tipped up. He lets go of Chris' wrist and instead holds his thighs up and open, inviting Chris to abuse his arse some more. "But, honestly speaking, that's only because I've lacked the opportunity."

Chris can't help but laugh, flicking his palm down again in another solid slap. "Tell me that you want to be a slut then."

"I do," Tom hisses, licking his teeth and writhing like a siren. He looks otherworldly, lying there gripping pink marks into his own thighs, holding himself spread open. "Want to be your slut."

 _'I'm your slut, sir'_ he'd said in the video they shot together, only something tells Chris that this time Tom isn't acting. It gives him pause, goes right to his cock like nothing before; a fiery burst of desire not just to fuck Tom but to own him, to ruin him for everyone else. It takes barely any effort to pull him in by his spread ankles, and though he squeaks a little he doesn't fight, letting his knees fall open wider for Chris to settle between. With deft fingers he reaches between them to work Chris' belt open, breathing heavily as he does, biting at his lips as the button gives him trouble.

Once the zipper is tugged down Chris presses him back down hard, not wanting Tom to know just how hard he already is. He likes the sound Tom makes as his shoulders hit the floor again, likes how submissive he's being.

"Ask me to fuck you," he says as he pulls the material down to mid-thigh, watching Tom's eyes drop to the bulge of his thick cock as it strains to escape his underwear. He palms at himself, enjoying the speedy rise and fall of Tom's ribs as he tries to control his breathing. Once he tugs the elastic of his underwear down behind his balls his cock springs up and Tom reaches out a hand for it which Chris bats away.

Tom huffs like he's on the brink of a tantrum if he doesn't get what he wants. "Yes, fuck me, fuck me," he whines without patience.

Chris grins, strokes himself slowly with his slick palm in an attempt to seem casual, like this whole thing is for Tom's benefit and he could still just walk away if he wanted. "Not like that. Ask nicely. Say please."

He doesn't know why he enjoys teasing Tom so much, but Tom inspires something dark and almost ugly inside of him, something that wants to see him have to beg.

And Tom does, so prettily, nodding desperately so that his curls bounce erratically on his head, babbling almost nonsensically, "Yes, okay, I'll ask nicely. Please. Please. I _need_ it so much, okay? That's what you want to hear? I need you, so bad."

Chris nods, stroking himself with a tighter fist, eyes flickering rapidly between Tom's desperate face and his sweet hole clenching prettily, begging for it just as much as his mouth. "Good boy," he murmurs soothingly, rubbing a dry finger against the furl of muscle. "Good boy. Tell me what you need."

Tom almost cries, throwing his head back for a second. He's so impatient, such a brat, and somehow it only makes Chris want him more. "Your cock! Will you- fuck, please, Chris. Sir. _Daddy_. Just fucking... _fuck me already_."

"Jesus," Chris laughs, though he's a little shaken by the unexpected name. "You really are a little pervert."

Tom scrambles for him, grips at his thigh so hard that his short fingernails sting. He arches his back, hums a little unsure sound. "Do you want me to call you Daddy?"

"No, shut up," Chris grunts, leaning to rifle through Tom's toy box to distract himself from the jolt of fire the word sends down his spine. "Maybe later. Don't you have any condoms?"

Tom leans up onto his elbow and blinks, shaking his head. "I've never needed-" He reaches out for Chris' thigh again, gentler this time. "You'll do it anyway, right? You're clean, aren't you?"

Chris bats his hand away and pushes him back down, shaking his head. "You don't know that, you should be more careful. Buy condoms."

Even as he says it he's slicking up his cock, and Tom watches with wide eyes and nods.

He lines himself up and Tom's hole flutters against the tip of his cock like a sweet kiss. Unable to help the groan that rumbles out of his throat, Chris bears down, relishing the slick grasp as he sinks inside, eyes stuck on the pink stretch of Tom's hole as it swallows him inch by inch. The focus has been so much on Tom's needy demands for this that Chris hadn't realised quite how much he needs it too.

Tipping forwards, he catches his weight on one hand beside Tom's head, using his other to encourage Tom's legs around his waist. It's been so long since he fucked like this, skin to skin, without worrying about camera angles, and as Tom winds all four of his limbs around him he lets his weight give completely, feels his cock sink inside Tom to the root. They moan in unison, warm breath mingling between their close mouths, and Tom leans up to steal a kiss.

Chris lets it happen for a moment, opens his mouth against the softness of Tom's lips and allows himself to lick inside, Tom's tongue sweeping slow against his own. It's too gentle, too real, and Chris turns his face away. Tom, not deterred, sucks and bites at his jaw instead, from his chin to his ear. Snapping his hips back to thrust harder, deeper, doesn't deter Tom's seeking mouth and so Chris winds his fingers into his curls and pulls hard until Tom's mouth slips away with a pained breath. Chris likes it, fucks into him harder and twists his fingers until Tom cries out a little louder.

Nodding, whining, Tom lets his head fall back against Chris' hand, fingers slipping down to wind in the loose slouch of Chris' jeans "Yeah," he breathes, "Hurt me if you want, I don't- I don't mind."

Chris' rhythm stutters as he pulls back in surprise, studying Tom's face to see whether or not he's serious, but Tom barely even opens his eyes, staring hazily from beneath hooded lids, mouth open just enough to let out his little whimpers of pleasure. He's beautiful, completely open; he's inviting Chris to do whatever he wants and Chris doesn't want to hurt him at all.

He just wants to teach him a little humility.

It's just an impulse that has him reaching into the box to find the toy that's wrapped in silk. He's not sure what he wants it to be but he's pleased when he unrolls it and finds a life-like, flesh coloured dildo inside. It's not as big as some of Tom's other toys but it's a good size, nice and thick, and feels surprisingly real. There's a wide suction cup at the base and Chris has no problem imagining Tom riding the thing with abandon.

"Get up," he grunts, sitting back on his haunches and slapping Tom lightly on the hip. He's not going to settle for Tom just lying back and enjoying himself.

When Tom blinks his eyes open fully he looks beyond stunned to find Chris with the dildo in his hand, glazed eyes coming into sharp focus as his face betrays his surprise. Chris isn't quite sure what Tom is expecting him to do with the thing but he moans low in his throat when Chris pulls his cock free and manhandles him up onto the bed, onto his hands and knees, slapping his arse for good measure as he passes. Tom's eyes follow him as he stops to stand beside the pillows, swallowing around a broken breath as Chris tips his chin up with one hand and, once he's confident of the height, sticks the silicone cock to the wooden headboard just out of reach of Tom's mouth.

"Is this one your favourite?" he says, reaching out to stroke his fingers through Tom's curls. "You keep it wrapped in silk."

Eyeing the toy, Tom hesitantly wets his lips. "I don't have a favourite. I just keep that one wrapped because...it was expensive and the silicone can become warped if you keep it close to other silicone. It binds together and-"

"Alright, Tom," Chris tugs him by the hair to shut him up. "I wasn't after a science lesson, I just want you to suck it."

Tom's eyes flash back to the toy and he nods but doesn't immediately do anything. Chris strokes his hair again, let's him lean into the touch like a puppy starved of affection.

"Had you ever sucked a cock before you sucked mine?"

Licking his lips again, as if trying to recall Chris' taste, Tom shakes his head.

"I think I knew that," Chris says, remembering the messy enthusiasm of Tom's mouth on him, how hard he tried to please him. "You've sucked this though, haven't you?"

A nod.

"Show me."

He holds his breath as Tom tips himself forwards and nuzzles his cheek against the realistic tip, turns his mouth to suck a kiss against the side of the shaft, lifting his eyes to stare coyly at Chris beneath his long eyelashes. He's so effortlessly sultry that Chris wonders how long he's been able to manipulate people with it, how old he first was when somebody's eyes lingered over-long on him.

He doesn't need to be instructed to wet his lips some more and move his attention to the cockhead, making sure Chris is watching as he lets his tongue curl and twist around the crown, paying special attention to the lovingly-detailed slit. The thing even has a series of thick veins and Tom lets his tongue follow them as he begins to bob his head. Chris doesn't know if the moaning is for his benefit but Tom certainly sounds as if he's enjoying himself. It's so mesmerising to watch that Chris thinks for a moment he can feel it himself.

"That's it," he nods, thumb rubbing soothingly behind Tom's ear. "Good boy. Suck it like it's your favourite thing to do. Can you take it down your throat? Have you ever tried?"

The scenario last time didn't give him the opportunity to realistically test Tom's limits but he wants to now, wants to see how deep Tom can take it before his eyes water, how many tries it takes for his throat to open for it. He wouldn't trust himself to not lose control but with this he can watch, can encourage while Tom remains in charge.

Chris kneels one leg up on the bed, cock bobbing as he does, and releases Tom's curls, letting his hand slip down between his shoulder blades where he rubs encouragingly before smoothing his palm down the ridges of Tom's spine.

"It's okay if you can't," he says, only because he suspects Tom will see it as a challenge.

Tom whines as Chris' trailing fingers reach the curve of his arse, digging into the meat of his buttock, and then he sucks in a breath and opens his mouth wide.

It takes him a few tries but he's persistent, getting it nice and wet with spit and then flattening his tongue and pressing forwards. He moans each time; wet, guttural sounds from inside his throat, and doesn't pull back until he needs to breathe.

"Use your spit," Chris murmurs, a gentle encouragement. "Get it nice and wet."

He takes hold of his own cock as Tom presses on, follows Chris' advice and allows his spit and drool to soak the cock, to ease the way as he opens his throat for it. He breathes through his nose, gagging and pulling back. When he looks at Chris his eyes are wet, tears forming at the corners, but he offers a watery smile, laughs at himself a little before turning his head and taking it in again. This time, slowly, he's able to open his throat properly for it. Chris squeezes at the base of his cock as he hears the familiar wet click of Tom's throat muscles contracting around the intrusion.

"Good," he whispers, "so good. Look at you."

He's almost jealous of the thing, slipping gentle fingers beneath Tom's wet chin to feel the bulge inside his throat. It puts Tom off his rhythm and he pulls back to catch his breath, a line of spit connecting his lower lip to the toy. "Why not just make me suck yours?"

"I'm enjoying watching," Chris murmurs, leaning in to kiss Tom's shoulder. "And in a minute? I'm going to fuck you again, nice and rough like I know you need, and you're going to keep sucking on our silicone friend here until I tell you that you can stop. Okay? You understand?"

Tom nods and gets back to it, moaning as he takes it inside again. Chris finally allows his fingers to slip down the slick crease of Tom's arse again to tap at his rim, circling his fingers until Tom moans and leans forward to allow the toy even deeper into his throat. It muffles his moan, draws more tears into the corners of his eyes and Chris can't wait any longer.

"Keep going," he says as he moves back behind Tom, kicking his pants down and off as he kneels up on the bed and takes himself in hand. Belatedly he realises that they've left the lube on the floor and so he spreads Tom's cheeks wide with thick fingers and leans down to spit lewdly into the twitching darkness of his hole. He can't see Tom's mouth much anymore but he can hear his noise of surprise, his moans and the wet sound of his lips and tongue working the fake cock.

He's not gentle as he presses back inside, but he tries to keep his thrusts careful and controlled, each one forcing Tom to take the toy deep into his mouth but never deeper than he can handle. He bites his lip, breathing through his nose. "You like that? Two cocks at once? Bet you wish it was real, don't you? Maybe I'll bring a friend next time."

He doesn't mean it, can't imagine anything worse, but Tom shudders and angles his hips up, clenches tight around Chris' cock and he lurches forward in surprise, fucking deep into the hot pressure of it, forcing Tom to unexpectedly swallow the silicone cock almost all the way down.

Chris pulls back, rubs his hip apologetically, but though Tom coughs, drool and spittle on his chin, he only stops to catch his breath before opening wide and trying to take it into his mouth again. Such a good, obedient boy. The first tendril of guilt squeezes at Chris' throat and he uses his arm around Tom's waist to hinder his forward motion, pulling him back away from the toy until he's up on his knees, back pressed tightly to Chris' chest.

"It's okay. You did good," he sighs, nodding against Tom's temple. He can't explain everything that Tom makes him feel, and he isn't sure he wants to, but when he tips Tom forward again - cheek pressed firmly to the pillow this time and arse high in the air - he relishes the desperate whine that Tom emits. "Gonna fuck you now," he growls, and does just that.

He presses his hands to the base of Tom's spine and uses his weight to fuck him in long, fast thrusts, gritting his teeth as he does. He's got enough leverage to fuck good and hard without exerting himself too much and the angle is good for Tom, who cries out with each thrust. There's no real finesse to it, nobody on the other side of a camera to impress, it's all about him and Tom.

Bending his knee to flatten his foot against the bed he spreads Tom's cheeks again to watch, to see how easily Tom takes him.

"Did you watch our video?" he breathes, slowing to pull his cock almost all the way out until only the head of his cock remains inside. Tom's hole grips at him, unwilling to let go. "Did you see how pretty you look when you're taking a cock?"

He doesn't wait, angling his hips to jab his cock inside again deep and so hard that whatever Tom's answer was going to be it becomes a garbled moan. He picks up his pace again, pounding so hard the bed rocks and squeaks in complaint, the silicone cock bobbing like a metronome on the headboard. Tom turns his head to rest his cheek against the pillow, eyes pinched tightly closed, his face a picture of exquisite pain. Chris leans close enough to smooth the damp curls from his forehead.

"Gonna come?"

Tom shakes his head, cheekbones stark on his pale face as he clenches his jaw. It's clear he's close and Chris slaps him high on the thigh, leaning forwards until his chest is flush with Tom's back.

"Nobody likes a liar, Tom," he grunts, kissing him behind the ear, and then he lets loose, using all the energy he has left to jackhammer in and out of Tom with as much force and speed as he can, pleased when Tom is forced to unclench his jaw and release a long, broken wail. He doesn't stop except to breathe, nonsensical sounds spilling from his mouth as Chris keeps up his punishing rhythm, fucks Tom in a way he can't possibly fuck himself with any of his precious toys, so hard he'll surely be sore from it.

When Tom comes it's with one last, desperate cry, his throat tight and hoarse, and his whole body tightens up, fingers and toes curling as his back stiffens. "Chris- Chris- _fuck_ ," he whines, shivering as Chris fucks him through his orgasm.

He's loose-limbed when Chris flips him, allows himself to be manhandled again and can't even keep a grip on his lifted knees when Chris asks. His arms shake when he tries, his sweaty fingers unable to keep their grip, and in the end Chris has to take hold of him by the ankles to keep him in position.

Tom hisses when he presses back inside even though he's gentle, and his softening cock twitches helpless against his stomach. He's dazed but he keeps his eyes on Chris, lips opening around little whimpers with each steady thrust.

"Want me to come inside you?" Chris asks, torn between filling Tom up and crawling up his body to paint his face with it.

"Yes," Tom signs, running one hand through his hair and letting the other trail down his stomach to palm at his soft cock. "Yes, gimme your come, please."

It's the please that does it, said with such a soft little breath. Chris lets go of Tom's ankles and leans down to kiss him on the mouth. When he pulls back a little Tom is smiling a little and looking him in the eyes, and Chris knows with sudden certainty that he _wants this_. "Nobody else, do you hear me?"

Tom's throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes watery as he stares at Chris. A deeper thrust has him pinching them shut and Chris leans down close, rubs his thumb along his cheekbone.

"You have to say it and mean it or I'll walk away and I won't look back. D'you hear?"

Tom's chin wobbles as he bites his lip, either to stop himself from moaning or from crying. He nods, but it's not enough.

"Say it."

"Nobody else," Tom nods again, licking his dry lips. "Nobody else I promise. I promise."

Chris tries to tell himself that he just wants to keep Tom safe, that he wants to be the only one so that nobody else can take advantage or hurt him, but as Tom seeks out his mouth again he knows it's a lie. Breathing heavily through his nose he keeps his mouth on Tom's as he comes, one last deep thrust before he stills and empties himself into Tom's greedy hole.

Tom gasps against his mouth, tilts his head just-so to kiss at the corner of his lips, murmuring, "Please, yes, fill me up-" and Chris' hips jolt forwards again.

He can't hold his own weight after but Tom doesn't seem to mind, stroking at Chris' hair and damp forehead like a fussy little wife, kissing his cheek and his jaw and anywhere else within reach.

When Chris eventually moves to get up, drawing his hips back to allow his soft cock to slip free, Tom reaches out fast and grips him by the hair, pulling like the spoiled boy he is when Chris tries to move.

"Get off, you little psycho," he grunts, forcing Tom's fingers loose. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tom lets Chris pull his hand away from his hair but then grips at his fingers. Chris huffs and tries to wiggle them loose.

"Do you mean that?" Tom asks, and there's vulnerability so clear on his face even though he tries to mask it. Chris stops fighting to slip his hand free.

Rolling up onto his side he slips a hand behind Tom's neck and tugs him in for another kiss. He's so settled into the post-coital haze that it takes effort to get himself up onto his knees. Tom is still pliant and fucked out on the floor, staring at him.

"I meant it." He says, running one flat palm up Tom's smooth chest and the other down the inside of thigh, fingers slipping slickly along red finger marks that look as though they're going to bruise. Chris can't tell if they're Tom's marks or his own, but between that and his dark pink hole they've really made a mess of him. Tom doesn't seem to mind.

"You know, you really should've sought out a safe environment to explore your kinks rather than deciding to infiltrate a porn company."

"I don't think wanting to get fucked is a kink," Tom scoffs, rolling his eyes like the teenager he is.

"Yeah, but calling your partner _daddy_ is." Chris lifts a brow when Tom opens his mouth to object. "It's okay. I'm game for some roleplay. I have some fantasies of my own."

Fingering gently around his entrance Chris can't help but smile at Tom's wince, tempted to remind him how desperately he'd asked for it, but instead he parts Tom's thighs wider with a gentle hand and kicks a vibrator out of the way while he settles in between Tom's knees.

"You'll be sore tomorrow," he says, grinning widely as he glances up Tom's body to his face. "How about I kiss you better?"

Tom shudders happily and lies back, slipping his hands beneath his knees again as he murmurs, "Yes please. Yes, yes, yes."

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _SPOILER: Tom is revealed to be 16 rather than 18_


End file.
